Zombie
by WalkingWit
Summary: She drops the letter to the perfectly polished floor, shaking violently. She watches as they bury the empty coffin before finding her way to the garden to join him. Implied character deaths, be warned.
1. Chapter 1

This is just something that just popped into my mind when listening to "Zombie" by the Cranberries. I own nothing. This is my first Secret Garden story.

**Zombie**

She clutched the worn letter in her hand, shaking her head in disbelief. Crumpling it up, she tossed it to the perfectly polished floor in anger. She glanced at her uncle and cousin, their solemn faces doing nothing to console her. How she didn't want to believe that he was dead. Perhaps he was just missing, as many soldiers end up? She looked again to her family, knowing her hopes were crushed. She refused to let the tears flow freely, attempting to gain some composure as her frame shook violently. She steadied herself against the wall, shoulders quavering, eyes shut closed. She crumpled to the ground, bringing her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth. Her uncle attempted to help her up, but she merely swatted him away violently. Her cousin shook his head at a loss, trying to look unfazed by the news.

_But you see, it's not me, it's not my family. _  
_In your head, in your head they are fighting, _  
_With their tanks and their bombs, _  
_And their bombs and their guns. _  
_In your head, in your head, they are crying_

She had horrible dreams shortly after he was drafted. Images of guns filled her nightmares, and she waited breathlessly for any word from him. She did not care if his letters were only a line long. It was reassurance enough that he was alive.

_In your head, in your head  
__Zombie, zombie_

She wondered whether she might be dreaming, that none of this was real. She hoped someday she would wake up from this nightmare of an existence.

At the funeral, there was no body to bury. She watched lifelessly as they started covering the empty coffin. She bit her lip, crying silently as not to disturb anyone. She thought of how wrong it all was, how he should be by her side in the garden, whispering into her ear. She held her arms across her stomach, thinking of the children they never had. She noticed everyone leave but remained rooted in her spot. She shrugged away her uncle and her mother-in-law. She looked up at the woman who became a mother to her. Her tear stained cheeks matched hers. Martha looked on forlornly, grasping the hand of her small son, her husband rubbing her back in comfort.

"Mary-" Mrs. Sowerby choked on her words, bringing the young girl into a hug.

"Why?" she asked, looking up at her, "why, mum?"

She shrugged, pained at the loss of her son.

"Come, it's starting to rain," Lord Craven urged the women.

"Just give me some time," Mary pleaded, watching them agree and leave.

She sat down on the dirt, in front of the grave. She traced her finger over his name, his birthday. She choked on a sob, letting the floodgates open. He was supposed to be coming home, the war was over. She was overjoyed when she heard the news, only to have the letter delivered a few days later. 1898-1918, the stone read. He was but twenty. She cursed aloud, not caring if anyone heard her. She stared at the overcast, dull grey skies, letting the rain mingle with her tears.

_It's the same old theme since nineteen-sixteen.  
__In your head, in your head they're still fighting...  
__In your head, in your head, they are dying... _

He had been drafted in 1916. She cried and pleaded with her uncle to pay for him so he wouldn't leave, just as he had for Colin. Of course, he refused to pay his way out of war, insisting that it was not right. Instead, they married hastily in the village church in Thwaite. She remembered the ceremony fondly. She wore a simple white dress, he in his nicest dress clothes. His parents and her family looked on proudly, yet disheartened that tragedy hurried the marriage to occur faster than everyone had planned. He set off for France shortly after with promises to write every day.

_"Why, God?" she yelled to the sky._

Her only answer was a clap of thunder and lightening. She laughed bitterly, allowing herself to be soaked to the bone by the rain. She did not care if she should die from hypothermia-at least they would be together. She toyed with the plain gold band on her ring finger, a sad smile gracing her young face. Yes, they would be together once more. She stood with purpose, striding to the garden, sitting herself on the swing. It was the very same swing they had fixed together and sat on together. The garden was a fitting location.

She pushed herself off the ground, higher and higher. She let her grip from the ropes loosen, freeing herself from reality, falling towards Dickon.

* * *

**Please review, it would be greatly appreciated. I don't know whether I should continue this or not, but as of now it is complete. There are several ways I could continue it, but I would first like some feedback.**


	2. Linger

**Linger**

There they sat in the garden, laughing as the sun beat on them. Dickon plucked a few flowers, handing them to Mary as she wove a wreath to place in her hair. He moved closer to her, kissing her briefly on the lips.

"'Tis a lovely wreath," he complimented, running his fingers through her hair.

She smiled.

* * *

Colin Craven had finally married. His wife, Isabel, was beautiful and kind. Misselthwaite had a mistress again, and it seemed that everything was falling into place. Soon they had a beautiful daughter. Colin instisted she be named Mary, after his dearly missed cousin. Isabel readily agreed, having been aware of how Mary had helped Colin as a child.

Colin insisted that the garden never leave top form and had servants work on bringing it back to life, seeing as how after Mary's passing no one had gone in after discovering her body.

Mary grew into a clever girl. She even resembled Mary in appearance and temperment.

She took an interest in the garden quickly, as Colin took her there ever so often. He felt as though he could her Mary and Dickon speaking quietly, chuckling. When there was no wind, he could see the swing go back and forth.

The servants at Misselthwaite began to believe that Lord Colin had gone mad. Isabel kept her concern to herself, not wanting to upset Colin. One day she heard him talking to himself unintelligably. Still, she remained silent on the matter. She began to make excuses to not have Mary join Colin in the garden. However, the little girl had inherited her cousin's determined spirit and insisted on accompanying her father.

She flourished in the garden, and soon began to see what Colin saw. Eventually, a few servants claimed they had seen Mary and Dickon wandering the moors, wearing the same clothes they had at their wedding.

The younger Mary learned of her namesake's impact on her family and thanked her silently every time she saw her father smile and her mother laugh.

One day she ventured to the garden alone, making quick work of taking the path she had always taken. A little robin startled her.

"Get away, robin," she said steelily.

"It only wants to help thee," a boy told her, smiling. There was mud on his cheeks, his blue eyes smiling.

Her brown eyes stared back at him suspiciously.

"And who are you?" she asked.

"Richard," he said simply.

"Richard?" she repeated.

"Me brother calls me Dick, just to vex me," he replied.

Mary offered the boy a small smile.

"I'm Mary Craven," she said, walking to the garden.

With that, the two children became friends. Colin marvelled at the similarities between the children before him and the children he had grown up with. Richard was the new gardener's son. His mother worked in the manor. Eventually, Isabel joined the three in the garden, staring in wonder at its beauty.

One day she heard the bushes rustling, and turned around. She caught a fleeting glimpse of long, wavy hair and a white dress. She kept staring at the spot, gasping quietly when she saw a tall man with wild hair join her as they conversed. She dared not blink, afraid they would dissapear.

"Colin, love," she shook her husband's arm, diverting his attention away from the children.

"What is it?" he turned to face her.

"I saw them," she said.

Colin looked at her in shock, staring in the direction she was gazing to.

"Really?"

"Yes. It had to be them. They're still here," she whispered as to not disturb young Mary and Richard.

Colin stared long and hard, but saw nothing. Had they moved from fear of being discovered? Were they mere apparitions and spirits? He felt as though his heart would explode if he had one last chance to see his dear friends again.

The woman in the white dress and the man appeared, turning around. Colin felt his heart skip a beat. Mary waved, resting her head on Dickon's shoulder. Dickon nodded as Colin waved back weakly. As soon as they appeared, they disappeared. Colin looked at his wife and his daughter and her friend. He took a deep breath and smiled. Mary and Dickon would always be there, he had no doubt about it.

* * *

Dickon ran his hands through Mary's honey coloured locks gently, not wanting to disturb the wreath she had worked so intently on. Her head rested on his lap, her hands fiddling with the daisy in her hands. The trees rustled, swaying gently in the breeze. They heard laughter coming from a distance away and Mary smiled. This was how it was supposed to be-lingering in the garden for all of eternity.

* * *

**Just tying up a few loose ends, I suppose. The dead are never really gone, are they?**


End file.
